Venemous Tears
by Unwritten
Summary: Sequel to "To You, I wrote; My Letters, Bitter." R-rating is immediate: very angsty, sad, implied A/L slash, etc... Aragorn feels horrid and contemplates many things... R/R, and enjoy!


A/N: Insomnia does odd things to people. Here is the sequel that was asked for… Enjoy and what not. (Warning—very angsty/dark/contemplative. Do not read if this does not interest you.)   
  
Aragorn dismissed his messenger softly and sat in the dim room in silence for what seemed like hours. He thumbed through the pages of letters repeatedly, trying to take everything in slowly, after the information had hit him hard like the flat side of a Nazgul blade. The man was in disbelief that he could have ever done such a thing. Soon, Aragorn would become very angered and would be a short fuse.  
  
It made no sense at all—why had not Legolas told him of his troubles? Why had he not confronted him? Could he truly have been _that_ cold to the elf? There was no possible way to explain any of this, no way in all of Middle Earth. The heart of Aragorn was halfway between his throat and mouth, and his stomach panged from nausea. Grey eyes soon became blurred and the man felt it difficult to breathe. Had he truly caused the death of another? Was it possible?   
  
Aragorn tried to make sense of all this, but none of his reasoning seemed fitting or straightforward enough to believe—none of it was plausible. All of this… This angst, and stress, and anxiety—he had been the creator of all this in Legolas. The elf had truly loved him, from the day they _met_, even, and all he did was use the creature. Feeling lower than dirt, Aragorn started to sob silently as he bowed his head in shame. His grip on the letters tightened and he caused rips and creases to form in the once-perfect parchment pieces. 

Tears that burned like scalding hot water bore their way down the man's unshaven face, leaving glimmering trails of frustration on his face. What was wrong with him? People died every day in his kingdom, especially in the whole world—it is not as if it truly mattered much or at all, who died everyday. After all, it is just another person. Besides—Aragorn may have drove to elf to kill himself, which was the elf's own folly. If his grief had subdued him, that would be a different thing. Then, and only then, would he feel guilt. Then and only then would it really be significant.

It was not Aragorn's fault that Legolas never confronted him about his true feelings. How could he have known? Elves have an uncanny way of masking everything emotional in them, mused the man bitterly, as he tried to rock himself into a state of reassurance and sanity. So many thoughts ran through his head, it became overwhelming, and he lay against the bed he was on. He sunk himself into the soft down comforter and closed his eyes, trying to erase everything he felt.

Why was it that someone he did not even love made him act so weak? So vulnerable and easily moved to tears? Never in his life had the man apologized, nor had he cried easily, but for Legolas, there was a time he would have apologized for the elf looking saddened. Only the death of Arwen or Elrond could move him to tears, he reassured himself, still swimming in the sea of thoughts and doubt he currently created for his own self. 

Aragorn had seen much through his life… He had seen innocent people die at the hand of evil. He had seen towns, villages, and whole cities burnt down to the ground, leaving only cinders and ash behind in a grey, barren land that became unsalvageable to the people. Even his hands had done some of this. He had killed thousands upon thousands of his foes in order to save his family, his kingdom—his people. Hands that once were clean and untainted were now imbrued with blood. 

The man strongly believed that everything that had ever happened to him occurred for a reason—all of it; it all had a purpose in his life, and the fates had planned all this out intricately. The many occurrences in his life had made the man stronger, all in order for him to be the person he was now—the strong king, that governed his people righteously and was never unjust in his reasoning's. 

Then, if this was all so, and everything occurred for a specific reason, why did Legolas die? Aragorn saw no reason in that—no possible explanation for it. He had caused it… Alternatively, did he? This was not meant to happen, he mused, someone must have killed him, he thought in a state of anxiousness.  Maybe the Valar were testing him… Elbereth, perhaps, did not believe he was worthy of all he had, so she was testing him. That could be the only plausible excuse for the death of his elven friend. Friend? That seemed like such an unworthy title, for in the opinion of Legolas, they were bitter enemies. 

No, thought Aragorn. Legolas merely hated him, for he had married Arwen. Yes, the beautiful Arwen… This is why Legolas' thought of him was so virulent. Legolas was jealous, is all: very extremely jealous and stubborn elf. This was not unheard of, of course. Many of the younger elves whom possessed great beauty and grace like Legolas had often grown arrogant because of what they inherited. Perhaps Legolas had become arrogant, crude, and bitter since the fellowship and Quest had ended.

That was **definitely** not possible. 

Aragorn could only remember a gentle, caring Legolas. He could only remember the loving elf that was full of life, had immense beauty, and seemed wiser than anyone than Aragorn had ever met. Legolas was the most exquisite thing the Valar had ever blessed Middle Earth with. Only one could _imagine_ how long Elbereth had spent creating Legolas. How long it took to design that perfect, lithe body… to find the purest strands of silken gold to adorn his head with… to form his sweet, cherry lips.

What was Aragorn thinking?

He loved Arwen, and no other! He loved her **like** no other! How then, could he say these things about Legolas, when his heart desired to see his Arwen grace a room with her ethereal presence? It was Arwen whom he devoted himself to, not some trampy blond elf. All of his thoughts about the deceased elf were ludicrous. How extremely humorous and laughable!

Aragorn's heart sank.

There was only one thing to do.

Swiftly standing, Aragorn rushed out of the chamber he was in, leaving the letters behind in a piled mess, and flew down a hall to the stables. Aragorn quickly mounted a horse, ready to ride, but was stopped by his squire before he had a chance to do so. 

"Milord, where dost thou intend to go? Thou needs to tend to thine kingdom!"

"I must go, I must seek solace in the wood. Fear not, gentle sir, I shall not be gone long, for I merely wish to see my Arwen and console her."

"Surely I cannot allow you to go unarmed and without sustenance! Here, wait whilst I go nab you a few things—"

"Nay, I shall be fine," said Aragorn, as he rode off, swift as a bird, and straight as a crow flies. For three days Aragorn rode, stopping only to sleep for a few hours and to rest his horse, much like he did during the Quest. The Quest… the mere mention of it brought back memories he wished to leave behind. How everyone in it had been hurt and pressed beyond their limits. Then something suddenly hit Aragorn: as soon as he walked in to Lothlorien, he would be reminded of Legolas, in more than one way. He planned to look upon the elf once more to resolve what his heart panged to say… To relieve himself of his burdens and doubts and to reassure everything he had once felt.

Nevertheless, what he feared most would be remembering vividly the nights of passion he shared with Legolas. Those memories would be the hardest, and most bitter and stinging of all to the seemingly strong man. He would remember the smile and bright blue eyes of the elf as he lay below the man; his pale, graceful body beneath him, covered in the sweat from the heat of love, and how strands of golden hair framed his moistened face. How a light blush settled through his body, and the sounds he made—Aragorn reveled in the sounds that emerged from the perfect mouth of the elf. Indeed, this would be a test.  

When Aragorn did finally arrive in Lothlorien, he was not greeted warmly. He was greeted with cold, dagger eyes of the elves—their piercing stares driving swords into his back. They spoke coldly to him, figuring that he was the only cause of Legolas' demise. Everyone who had met the elf adored him for the purity that glowed about him—how he was such a kind, loving soul. And seeing him go… That was like seeing the golden wood being chopped down by men; something that the elves hoped to never witness.

What was even worse was when Haldir drew near to Aragorn. Haldir gave the man such a horrid and disgusted hate-filled look, it almost broke Aragorn. Many knew of what Haldir had felt for the young elven prince, and what he would have given up for him. Losing Legolas to Haldir was like losing everything that ever meant anything to another. Legolas was almost Haldir's life. This was easily seen, for Haldir had tears upon his normally drawn and dry face. Haldir cried for none… Save, **him**…

As if she knew his thoughts, Galadriel appeared before the man, sorrow covering her like a haze that could never be lifted. Fresh tears sparkled in her eyes as she looked at the man impassively, and nodded slightly. She walked ahead slowly, biding Aragorn to follow silently as she led him to Legolas. Galadriel stopped suddenly in a clearing that contained a gigantic tree of 'Lorien, that had many winding gold and white stairs winding up around it. She climbed these swiftly and with grace, as all elves did, and ceased her movements when she stepped out onto a large, secluded talen that overlooked a good portion of the forest. The river Celebrant was seen shimmering like a silver border off in the distance, the moon's light shining down strong yet dull.

There was an essence of pain and loss in that instant. The elves were at loss. 

The talen was of pure white, with ivy and other leaves of plants winding around the railings of its edges. Flowers littered the floor and a path was cleared to a white-marble box—presumably Legolas' coffin. Galadriel's head turned slowly in woe, and she looked into the room, her eyes never leaving the coffin. Aragorn walked in silently and with no haste. 

Peering in, he saw Legolas… elegant even in death. Legolas was as Aragorn had last seen him—perfect. Galadriel suddenly spoke to Aragorn in his mind, he voice twinged with hurt. 'He died of grief, Elessar,' said she, 'if that is of any comfort to you, when it means no comfort for us.' 

A sigh escaped Aragorn's mouth, and a single silver tear dripped down his face, landing on the pale cheek of the elf he now looked upon. Aragorn then made everything clear to himself, and to Legolas in his mind…

_I loved you Legolas. No matter how much I tried to hide it. No matter how much I wanted to deny and to shove the emotion away, I did. I drove you to do this… to give in to your grief. Obviously, you loved me, yet yours was an unrequited love. If I could only turn the tables and go back to that day, I would fix it all… honestly, I would. Adieu, Legolas… May you find peace in the halls of Mandos in the loftiness of the heavens above. Condemn me if you wish, for I am worthy of such treatment, but I ask of you to know this: I love you, and always will. _

Aragorn then left Lothlorien without saying a word to anyone—he did not even bother to speak to Arwen. Instead, he mounted his horse, and galloped out of the place. As soon as he left the woods, and came to open country, Aragorn rode slowly in woe back to Gondor…

The end.

Woop—there's the sequel you all asked for. Only one chapter, sorry… Hope you liked it, and hope it explained a lot, or something. Tell me what you thought; I think I made Aragorn feel pretty bad. Hehe ^^". Thanks for reading!

Here's a song I listened to while writing "To You, I wrote; My Letters, Bitter," and this fic. I suggest you download it.

**Epiphany—Staind **

Your words to me just a whisper  
Your faces so unclear  
I try to pay attention  
Your words just disappear  
'Cause it's always raining in my head  
So I speak to you in riddles because  
My words get in my way. I smoke the  
whole thing to my head and feel it  
Wash away 'Cause I can't take anymore  
Of this, I want to come apart,   
or dig myself a little hole inside  
your precious heart  
'Cause it's always raining in my head  
Forget all the things I should have said  
I am nothing more than a little boy inside  
That cries out for attention,  
though I always try to hide  
And I talk to you like children,  
but I don't know  
I'll do the right thing  
If the right thing is revealed  
But it's always raining in my head  
Forget all the things I should have said

  
  



End file.
